


Let’s See Where This Leads

by shipNslash



Series: What a Pair - 5+1 Javid Series [3]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 5+1, 5+1 Things, Canon Era, F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Les Jacobs is underappreciated, M/M, Our poor sweet gays, Parent-Child Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Protective Siblings, SO GAY, Sibling Love, so obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 08:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17556689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipNslash/pseuds/shipNslash
Summary: “Heya, Cowboy, where’s ya Mouth?”“I do have my own mouth, you knows, we ain’t attached at the hip.”“Is he on his way up?”“...Yeah, he’s just grabbing our mail. Do you need him?”~Jack and Dave, Dave and Jack. Everybody knows that the two are a package deal. Not everybody knows just how close they really are though. Five times people find out Jack and Dave are a couple and the one person who knew all along.





	Let’s See Where This Leads

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know how to drabble apparently. Enjoy some gays in love and their well meaning support system.

**One ~ Kloppman**

 

_~May 1899~_

 

Kloppman is an old man and he’s been running his boarding house since he was a young man. He’s seen a lot of boys come through his doors and he likes to think that he does his best to help every single one of them. He takes in all kinds and word has spread around New York that he’s the man for down and out newsies to turn to. Not white? Kloppman will let you in. Down an eye or a leg? Duane Street newsie lodge will make room for you. On the run from the bulls, drunken fathers, or an angry ex-employer? You’ll be safe here.

 

He says that he accepts all types and he means it, so he doesn’t draw the line at queers. He can usually tell which boys are queer easily enough, if not by their mannerisms then by their complete lack of -or overcompensating- interest in girls. He’s found most of his older boys necking or bedding someone and, while he cares for them, he’s not actually their father, so he doesn’t scold them; usually only tells the ones with girls to not get anybody pregnant and the ones with boys to not get caught.

 

Jack Kelly, though...

 

Jack ‘Cowboy’ Kelly is one of the most confusing boys the Kloppman has ever housed. He shows up when he’s nine, goes missing for six months when he’s eleven, another two when he’s fourteen, and then three weeks when he’s seventeen. He’s cocky but shy, protective of the littles but desperate to avoid attachment, and eager to break the law but never, ever to break Kloppman’s rules. What’s really confusing about Jack, though, is that not once, in eleven years, has Kloppman caught him looking at anybody, boy or girl, with an improper gaze.

 

“It wouldn’t kills you to lighten up,” he says one night when he finds the teenager smoking under the front desk.

 

Jack blows up a ring of smoke. “If I gets any lighter, I’ll starve.”

 

“You ain’t starving,” Kloppman scolds and reaches out a shaking hand -when did he get so old?- to snag Jack’s cigarette. “Ain’t nobody starving in this house.”

 

Jack hands it over without complaint and tugs his legs tight to his chest. “Boots didn’t sell ‘nough to make board today,” he says, tone accusatory. Kloppman would take offense if he didn’t know the boy better.

 

Thankfully he does know better, so instead he offers the information that Jack is fishing for. “You knows my policy. Once you’s been here at least six months, you gots a week to make it up to me.”

 

“Give me my smoke,” Jack demands. But, for all that his tone is still sour, the tension in his shoulders is gone and the crease between his eyebrows is smooth.

 

Kloppman hands over the cigarette. “Really, kid, you’s gotta relax. You’s seventeen. There’ll be time for worrying when you’s older.”

 

Jack’s eyes flutter shut as he sucks down and inhales. “But there’s worrying to be done now, Klops. When someone else comes along to do it, I’ll lets you know.” And then he pushes away from the desk and jogs up the stairs, feet silent in a way that only comes from years of practice. Jack Kelly may be confusing, but Kloppman knows a good boy when he sees one.

 

_~June 1899~_

 

Kloppman also knows a trouble maker when he sees one and, hello, David Jacobs.

 

~

 

Jack brings Dave to the lodging house for the first time during a thunderstorm.

 

Kloppman looks up when the door opens and sees Jack, along with two unfamiliar boys, burst into the house. They’re all soaking wet and, when Jack saunters up to the counter, the older of the two stops the younger one from following with a nervous gesture.

 

“Hey, Kloppman,” Jack says, easy smile in place. “This here’s Davey and Les, they’s new. Took the sorry suckers on as my selling partners.”

 

Kloppman eyes the pair skeptically. They’re both well dressed and well fed and the older one is shifting his weight uncomfortably. “They moving in? ‘Cause rent’s a dollar upfront and a dollar a week, even for Cowboy Kelly’s selling partners.”

 

From the doorway, the older one shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just hoping to hide out here until the storm calms down.” He steps forward and offers his hand and Kloppman stares at it until the boy tucks it into his pocket awkwardly. “David Jacobs,” he says into the silence.

 

“Good for you,” Kloppman finally manages. He looks at Jack with raised eyebrows. “They any good carrying the banner?”

 

Jack leans over and pitches his voice to a dramatic whisper-yell. “Les there’s a real natural but Davey couldn’t sell a pape to the pope.”

 

“Told you!” Les crows as Dave makes an exasperated gesture. Jack only grins wider and flops against Kloppman’s desk in a loose spray of limbs. That’s... odd. Jack is the kind to worry about the other boys, especially the younger and newer ones. But here he is, admitting that this boy isn’t a good newsie, comfortable as can be.

 

Dave tugs at his sopping wet tie and grimaces. “Just because I’m not interested in lying doesn’t mean I’m not a good newsie,” he blurts out in a manner that implies he’s said this before.

 

“Yes, it does.” “Uh, yeah huh!” Kloppman and Jack respond at the same time, which sends Jack into a giggle fit.

 

Once he calms down, he looks up at Kloppman with relaxed eyes. “So can they hang out, Klops?”

 

“Sure, Cowboy,” he says, because he wants to see where this leads.

 

_~July 1899~_

 

It leads to a strike, one of his boys in the Refuge, and David Jacob’s near constant presence. Kloppman doesn’t like Dave all that much; he’s too uptight, too bossy, too anxious. Jack Kelly’s stress is more than enough for one house. Only... the longer Dave hangs around, the more Kloppman sees Jack relax.

 

“We need to meet with Spot about the Doug Street’s distribution center crew. Who’s leading the strike there tomorrow?” Dave, with his tie loose around his neck, is bent over the table with stiff shoulders, scratching at a map of the city with a pencil.

 

Beside him, Jack is leaning back in his chair and twirling an unlit cigar in his fingers. “You needs to calm down, Mouth, we gots to trust Spot with his boys.”

 

Kloppman pauses where he’d been stacking dishes at the other end of the table. Did Jack Kelly, worrier extraordinaire, just tell somebody else to relax?

 

“Calm down? Calm down?! It wasn’t my idea to start a strike, Kelly. Send Racer over first thing in the morning to make sure it’s covered.” Dave scribbles something else onto the map and then glances up to see Kloppman still staring. “Sorry, sir,” he says and starts shuffling papers together. “I don’t mean to get in your way.”

 

“You’s ain’t in my way,” Kloppman hears himself say.

 

Jack stands from his chair and stretches. “We’s should be wrapping up anyways. You tired, Les?” Jack swings his legs under the table and Kloppman watches as the unholy terror that is Les Jacobs sticks his head up from whatever trouble he’d been causing down there.

 

“I suppose,” the kid says. “Will you walk us home?”

 

Dave tuts his tongue. “Jack needs his sleep, Les, don’t-”

 

“Don’t be silly, Davey,” Jack interupts and shoots a smile towards Kloppman. “I won’t be out too late, okay?”

 

Out loud, Kloppman says “sure thing, kid.” Silently, he thinks, ‘Jack Kelly never misses curfew.’

 

He watches them walk off, bumping shoulders over the younger kid’s head, and wonders if he should try and persuade Jack to look for companionship in someone who isn’t such a know-it-all. Probably not, he decides. David Jacobs may be a troublemaker but anybody who can get Jack Kelly to relax deserves to keep him.

 

**Two ~ Katherine**

 

_~August 1899~_

 

After the strike, Katherine’s father kicks her out, cuts her off, and tells her that if she likes the name Plumber so much, she might as well keep it. So she does. She finds a boarding house for working women, a nice place with a garden outside and individual rooms that she can afford on her salary from the Sun. The newsies all help her move in, carting boxes of clothes and books from the Upper East to the Lower West without one word of complaint. And Sarah... Sarah teaches her to cook and to sew and to wear a ratty coat over her nice clothes if she’s got to walk home after dark; all the things that Katherine never learned in boarding school. In return, Katherine teaches Sarah how to use a type writer and how to play chess and how to smoke without getting the smell on your clothes.

 

It’s during this last lesson that Katherine realizes she’s set herself up for failure. They’re leaning out of the window in Katherine’s room, about a month after the strike, passing a cigarette back and forth and looking up at the moon in a comfortable silence. Sarah’s fingers keep brushing against hers and the image of Sarah’s plush lips sucking on the cigarette is steadily dropping Katherine’s IQ. Les is asleep on the bed behind them, young enough that Katherine’s land lady doesn’t hold him to the ‘no men’ rule yet and exhausted enough from a day of helping Katherine and Sarah fold laundry that he passed out with his hat and boots still on.

 

“It’s getting late,” Sarah says into the silence. “Your land lady is going to come kick me out soon. No guests after eight.”

 

“No guests after eight,” Katherine repeats in a murmur.

 

Sarah shoots her a smile. “I guess I should wake Les up.”

 

Kathrine closes her eyes and nods. “Right, okay. Tell your folks I said hello.” She flicks the end of the cigarette with her nail and watches the light go out. “I wish you could stay.”

 

Even right in Katherine’s ear, Sarah’s voice is soft. “But there’s only one bed, Miss Plumber.”

 

And that’s all Katherine needs to kiss the other girl, a quick and passionate smash of lips and clang of teeth. They keep kissing, don’t break apart until there’s a firm knock on the door. Both girls jump away as if burned just as Katherine’s land lady opens the bedroom door. “Time for your guest to leave, Katherine,” the older woman says, eyes disapproving and voice harsh.

 

“Of course, ma’am, time just got away from us,” Sarah apologizes, no sign save the blush on her cheeks that she might be hiding something. Les grumbles on the bed and she ushers him up and starts helping him into his jacket. “Thank you for the fine evening, Kath.”

 

“Bye, Kath,” Les intones sleepily.

 

“Bye.” Katherine watches them leave and can’t stop the trembling hand that she presses to her lips. She shuts the window, changes into her night gown, and then goes to sit in front of her vanity, searching for a sign in the mirror that she’d just kissed another woman. Half an hour later, she’s tucking herself into bed and still replaying the kiss in her mind when-

 

_Knock, knock, knock._

 

Katherine yelps in shock and then slaps a hand over her mouth when she sees a familiar face in the window- the third story window. She rushes to throw the window open and offers a hand out to Sarah. “What are you doing?” She hisses.

 

“I took Les home and told my folks you weren’t feeling well and that I needed to stay the night. Help me in?” The two manage to get her over the sill and into the room and Katherine takes in the sight of Sarah, loose skirt tied up in her apron strings, face flushed with exertion, and smile mischievous.

 

“Who taught you to climb a trellis?” Is the first thing she asks. And then, “Wait, don’t answer that, just kiss me again.”

 

Sarah does.

 

_~October 1899~_

 

Three months later, Katherine still doesn’t know who taught Sarah to climb a trellis and it’s become something of a running joke between the two. She asks every time Sarah climbs in the window and, every time, Sarah only kisses her and makes a quip about reporters and investigations. She suspects Jack Kelly because Les is too young to be helping girls sneak in and out of anywhere and Dave- well, Kathrine actually laughs out loud when she tries to picture Dave breaking and entering.

 

On this particular night, when Sarah scampers up and climbs over the window sill, she doesn’t even give Katherine time to ask. “You’ll never believe this!” She gasps.

 

“What? Is everything okay?” Katherine rests a soft hand on Sarah’s cheek.

 

Sarah nods, all excitement and eagerness. “You’ll never guess who I just found out is queer!”

 

“Us?” Katherine asks playfully and laughs when Sarah whacks her in the shoulder. “Okay, okay, just tell me.”

 

“Davey and Jack.”

 

“...What?!” Katherine’s brain short circuits. She thinks about Dave, the most rule oriented person she knows, and Jack, a helpless flirt, and shakes her head. “No, Sarah,” she says slowly. “That can’t be right.”

 

Sarah smiles widely and starts tugging Katherine towards the bed. “No, really! They told me themselves!”

 

“But they’re- Jack-” She cuts herself off and puts her hands on her hips. “Since when?”

 

“Since about a month before us, actually,” Sarah is already pulling off her boots, too filled with frantic energy to relax.

 

Katherine runs a distracted hand through Sarah’s hair. “I just don’t see how that’d work, to be honest. Jack is so wild and Dave is so...” She trails off and Sarah raises an eyebrow.

 

“Uptight?”

 

“Sure,” Katherine says, waving a hand. “Uptight. I can’t image how Dave puts up with Jack’s antics.”

 

Sarah curls up under the taller woman’s arm. “I think it’s nice. You should’ve seen Davey before he started hanging out with Jack. If you think he’s uptight now- well, let’s just say that the boy was a walking ulcer back when he was in school. Jack’s been... good for him. And Jack needs somebody to keep him steady.” She sits up a little and presses a peck to Katherine’s lips. “And besides, don’t you feel better on behalf of all the women in New York, knowing that Jack Kelly is in a committed relationship?”

 

That makes Katherine laugh. “I suppose. I bet Dave spends half their time together fending off Jack with a stick.”

 

“It sounds to me,” Sarah counters, hand inching towards the lace of Katherine’s night dress. “Like you might be underestimating us Jacobs. After all, who do you think taught me to climb a trellis?”

 

“Wait, what?!”

 

**Three ~ Crutchie**

 

_~June 1900~_

 

Crutchie likes Dave. He’s smart, funny, hardworking, and kind without being condescending. He also makes Jack happy. He does get a little jealous, sometimes, that he spends so much time with the Jacobs these days. But tonight it’s just the two of them, stretched out on their penthouse under the warm night sky.

 

They’re just undressing for bed when he sees them; a line of small, blue bruises along Jack’s neck, normally hidden by the collar of his shirt.

 

“Jack, is those hickeys?!” Crutchie gasps without thinking.

 

Jack slaps a hand over the bruises, eyes going wide. “No!” He protests weakly.

 

“Yes, they is,” Crutchie argues and scoots closer to see. “Since when’s you been the kind for one night only girls?”

 

Jack sits there, mouth gaping for a moment. “No, it ain’t-“

 

“Ain’t what it looks like? I thought we was brothers, Jack.” The silence on the roof is heavy. Crutchie hasn’t said anything about how things have changed but now, all the feelings and thoughts come bubbling to be surface. “I bet Davey knows who she is,” he snaps. It’s a low blow and he almost regrets it when he sees the look on Jack’s face; part shocked pain, part guilt.

 

“That ain’t fair, Crutchie,” he whispers back.

 

“Why?” Crutchie demands. He’s never been the violent type but he feels the sudden urge to punch the boy next to him. “Why ain’t that fair? ‘Cause you and Davey is friends now? ‘Cause you like playing house with him and his folks? ‘Cause now you’s more than just another pathetic orphan-”

 

Jack slaps a hand over Crutchie’s mouth. “Stop! No! You knows that ain’t it!”

 

Crutchie peels Jack’s hand away from his mouth. “Then what is it?” He asks, voice so icy cold he doesn’t even recognize it.

 

Jack looks around them and, to Crutchie’s confused horror, tugs his hand out of Crutchie’s grip to wipe at tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s just… well, the thing is…” He trails off and twists his lip to the side.

 

“Jacky, what is it?” Crutchie reaches out with a soft hand and places it on his friend’s shoulder. He doesn’t know how this conversation went from him being rightfully angry to Jack -the unflappable Cowboy Kelly- crying and scared. “Hey, I didn’t mean what I’s said, I knows it ain’t like that. Just… talk to me, yeah?”

 

Jack swallows and nods. “Yeah, okay. You’s… you’s promise you won’t hate me, Crutchie?”

 

He looks genuinely scared so Crutchie scoots even closer and bumps their shoulders together. “We’s brothers, Jack, you knows I couldn’t ever hates you. Just tell me what’s going on?” He smiles and waits patiently.

 

“Okay,” Jack begins after a moment of silence. “Okay. The thing is, Crutchie, is that… Well, you’s see, I don’t have to tell Dave who gave’s me the hickeys on account of…” Jack breathes out harshly, leans his head back, and closes his eyes tightly. He looks braced for a blow. “Dave’s the one who gave’s ‘em to me.”

 

“…What…?”

 

Crutchie takes so long to process the words that Jack flinches back and wraps his arms around himself. “I’s sorry, Crutchie, I- I don’t know what- Please don’t- Say something!”

 

“Okay, okay, just breathe, Jack,” Crutchie says. “I’s just shocked, that’s all. Are you trying to tell me that… you’s and Dave is…?” He makes a vague hand gesture and Jack winces.

 

“Queer,” he whispers, so softly that Crutchie wouldn’t have understood him if he hadn’t already known what he was going to say.

 

Crutchie nods once and thinks back on the past year. Jack and Dave letting Les go selling with other newsies, even though it hurt their sales. Hanging out on the roof during the winter, even though it was far too cold. Jack running all over the damn city trying to help Dave get through school. Dave, the Walking Mouth of Manhattan, going tongue tied and shy just yesterday when they’d been celebrating him taking his graduation test on the roof-

 

“Oh my god!” Crutchie yelps and then winces and lowers his voice. “Has you two’s been kissing on my bed?”

 

“What?! No!” Jack stammers, face going red.

 

Crutchie squints and crosses his arms. “Well keep it that way. I ain’t gonna be having my best pal and his dame making a mess of my bunk, even if his dame ain’t a girl.” He levels Jack with a mock-serious expression and then cracks a goofy smile.

 

Jack is looking at him with hesitant optimism. “Crutchie, is you…? Do you not mind?” His voice sounds young and Crutchie is reminded, briefly, that Jack is another kid, just like the rest of them.

 

“’Course I don’t mind, Jack. We’s brothers.” Crutchie bumps their shoulders together one more time and then is hit by an amazing idea. “I’s just got one condition…”

 

~

 

The next night, after the boys finish selling and start to filter into the boarding house, Crutchie lounges on his bed, bad leg propped up and magazine over his face. He knows the exact moment that the Jacobs brothers and Jack get back because Les’ voice echoes loudly through the house with boundless enthusiasm. He waits patiently and tries to hide his smile when he hears Jack’s familiar gate tromping up the stairs.

 

“Come on, Davey,” Crutchie hears him say. “Let’s hit the roof.”

 

Dave’s less familiar but still recognizable footsteps stop at the doorway to the bedroom. “Jack, it’s still light out.” His voice is quieter than Jack’s but still loud enough that Crutchie wonders how he didn’t catch on sooner.

 

“Don’t be a wuss,” is all Jack says. There’s the sound of playful rough housing and then the window creaking open and the two boys climbing the rattling fire escape.

 

Crutchie gives them a few minutes and then eases his way out of bed. After checking that the bedroom is still otherwise empty, he follows, the familiar climb to the ‘pent house’ taking him less than a minute. He creeps close to the water tank and fixes his face just as he rounds the corner. “Heya, Mouth, has you seen my copy of Treasure Island?”

 

“Fuck!” Dave leaps about three feet in the air- which is impressive, considering that his hands are rather occupied. He extracts himself from Jack’s person -see here, Jack’s trousers- and tugs down his rucked up shirt. His eyes and mouth are both wide with shock; so much so, he doesn’t seem to notice Jack smirking behind him.

 

“Fuck?” Crutchie tuts his tongue. “That ain’t very polite, Jacobs, didn’t that school of ya’s teach you anything?”

 

Dave’s head snaps back to look at Jack, comprehension dawning immediately. “You bastard!” He shouts and whacks the taller boy’s chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Hell, Crutchie, don’t scare a fella like that.” He lets his head fall back against the brick wall and sucks in a ragged breath, glaring when Jack and Crutchie both start to laugh. “I suppose you already know, then?” He asks.

 

Crutchie nods and leans against the water tank. “Jack told me last night. And here I was thinking he’d replaced me as his best friend. Imagine my relief when it turns out you’s is just his sweetheart.”

 

“You hear that Davey, it was a relief- ow! Quit that!” He slaps away Dave’s pinching fingers and the other boy’s glare withers.

 

“I’m glad you told him,” he whispers, turning to shoot Crutchie a small smile. “I told him that you wouldn’t be mad but you know how Jack is when he gets stuck on something.”

 

Crutchie smiles back. “’Course I ain’t mad, he’s my brother. That means that I got’s to threaten you though, yeah? You hurts Jack and I’ll be after you like a bull on a badger.”

 

Dave rolls his eyes. “You know I don’t know what that means, right?” He offers his hand out anyways and manages not to wince when Crutchie spits in his palm before shaking. “But if I ever hurt Jack, I’d expect nothing less.”

 

Crutchie smiles and then steps away. “Now, I thinks I was interrupting something. Don’t make a mess on my bed.”

 

He walks off, leaving Dave sputtering indignantly and Jack howling with laughter. Just as he’s about to climb back into the boarding house, one leg in the window and one leg out, Les comes barreling into the bedroom. “Crutchie!” He shouts and rushes over. He holds up his bag of marbles as if in offering. “Wanna play with me?”

 

“Sure, kid,” Crutchie says and swings fully into the boarding house.

 

At least one of the Jacobs brothers prefers him to Jack.

 

**Four ~ Racetrack**

 

_~December 1901~_

 

Race doesn’t realize he’s headed to Dave and Jack’s building until he’s outside. He stares up at the building with a sort of detached interest. It’s nicer than the building him and Spot live in, but not by much. He climbs the familiar stairs -how many times have he and Spot come over for poker night?- and knocks on the door with a weak hand. Nobody answers and he knocks harder and harder and harder until the wooden door starts creaking under his fist. A neighbor down the hall yells for him to cut it out and Race obeys, sliding down the door to sit on the dirty floor. He stares at his hands and wonders where the blood came from.

 

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but the next thing he knows, a dirty boot toe is gently nudging his leg. “Racetrack? What the hell is you doing here?”

 

Race looks from his hands -the bleeding has stopped- and sees Jack, face a mask of concerned confusion. “Oh. Heya, Cowboy, where’s ya Mouth?”

 

“I do have my own mouth, you knows.” Jack scowls and hauls Race to his feet by his shoulders. “We ain’t attached at the hip.”

 

Race doesn’t know what that means. All he knows is that Dave can fix this. That’s what Dave does, right? Fix all of his old newsie pal’s problems? “Is he on his way up?” He cranes his neck around Jack to look at the staircase. If Jack is here, Dave can’t be far behind.

 

“...Yeah, he’s just grabbing our mail. Do you need him?” Jack’s face is openly worried now, and he releases Race to start fishing for his key.

 

Race only nods and follows Jack into the apartment. It’s clean, like everything involving Dave is, but a little cluttered, like everything involving Jack eventually ends up. There’s only one bedroom -Race doesn’t remember who takes it and who takes the pull-out couch- and the living area and kitchen. He sits down at the table on autopilot, attention latching onto the stack of spelling tests in front of him. Dave’s familiar handwriting is scattered over the top page, a tidy, practiced script that puts the student’s scrawl to shame. There’s an empty coffee cup beside the pile of work and at the other side of the table, one of Jack’s trashy cowboy novels is pressed facedown. Race is vaguely aware of Jack talking in his ear and then banging around the kitchen but it just echoes around him.

 

“Hey, Jack, could you- Oh. Racetrack, what’re you doing here?” Dave’s voice manages to shake Race from his stupor and he looks over his shoulder. Dave is in the doorway, a handful of mail in one hand and his briefcase in the other. He looks professional, in his teacher’s suit and tie, and it reminds Race of why he’s here.

 

Dave will be able to help, he’d told himself. It was probably the last coherent thought he’d had.

 

“I needs ya help,” he hears his own voice say. “Mouth- Davey, I needs ya help.”

 

Dave frowns but nods, dropping his bag and mail onto the kitchen counter and striding over. “Yeah, Racer, whatever you need. What’s going on?” He sits on the table edge and Race has to tip his head back to look up at him.

 

“Spot… Spot’s in the hospital.”

 

“What?! Why?” “Aw, hell, what happened?” Dave and Jack talk over each other and Race struggles to breathe.

 

He closes his eyes and squeezes his fists. There’s a light pain along his knuckles and it helps him focus. “We was at work- ya know, at the docks. I wasn’t there, I was a few ships down but they told me-” He sucks in a wet gasp “He was climbing up a mast or something and- well, it’s cold out. There’s ice. I’s guess he slipped and he fell into the water. They’s got him out but…” His throat constricts and if he hadn’t cried himself out in the lot behind the hospital this afternoon, he’s sure he’d be crying now. “He was in the water for a long time. We got him to the hospital but they wouldn’t let me in.” He opens his eyes and both Dave and Jack are looking at him in horror.

 

“Why not?” Dave demands.

 

Race shrugs. “Said family only.”

 

Jack’s face twists in anger. Race should have seen that coming; Jack always gets angry when things are out of his control. “Did you’s tell ‘em he’s an orphan?” He snaps.

 

“’Course I told ‘em that. Then I told ‘em I was his brother but they didn’t believe me.” Race had briefly considered, in his panic, saying that Spot was his husband. That certainly wouldn’t have gotten him in and then he wouldn’t have been able to come ask for Dave’s help. Not only because he’d most likely be in jail, but he also really doubts that David ‘Voting is a Civic Obligation’ Jacobs would be interested in helping a couple of queers.

 

As it is, Dave only places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Okay, we’ll go to the hospital and figure it out,” he soothes. “We’ll talk to the doctor. I’m sure he’s just fine.” He darts into the bedroom and starts digging around in a dresser.

 

Race sways a little on his feet and through the fog, he feels Jack steady him with strong hands. “Heya, Race, come on, buck up. Spot Conlon is the toughest bastard I’s ever known. A little bit of cold water ain’t gonna do him in.”

 

Race nods mutely but is interrupted by Dave before he has to come up with a response. He’s holding a framed pictured and Race can just barely make it out. It’s of him and Spot, both with an arm around Kath, giving her cartoonish, exaggerated kisses on each cheek. It was taken at Medda’s last spring, when she’d had her first front page story since the strike. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Dave says, pulling Race’s attention away from the happy memory in his hand. “You two go back to your apartment. Jack, you get Race cleaned up and dressed in as nice of clothes as you can find. He looks like a bum, nobody’s going to let him in anywhere like that. I’m going to go get Katherine and we’ll meet you at the hospital.”

 

“Kath?” Jack asks, taking the picture from the other man’s grip. “What’s Kath going to do? Yap the doc’s ear off until they let us in?”

 

Dave snags the picture back and glares. “No. We’re going to tell them that Kath is his sister and that her and Race are married.”

 

“Married? Why the hell should I say I’s married to Kath?” Race asks, drawn into the conversation enough to protest.

 

Dave holds up the photo again, as if for evidence. They all look happy, Spot and Race in their nice jackets and Kath in a fine gown. It was pale yellow -Race remembers because Spot had made a quip about how Race would have looked sexy in it- but it looks white in the picture. Easy enough to believe that it’s a wedding photo, a husband and a brother both kissing the new bride in congratulations. “So you can say you’re his brother-in-law. Kath and Spot look enough alike, they’ll buy it. She’ll cry a bit, say she’s too scared to go in alone, and they’ll have to let you in.” He nods to himself, pleased, and Race starts nodding too.

 

“Okay, that sounds good,” he agrees.

 

After that, Race lets Jack drag him away and they hurry down the streets that lead to his and Spot’s apartment. Like Dave and Jack’s place, it’s a one bedroom with a pull-out couch. Unlike Dave and Jack’s place, the pull-out couch only gets used when one of Spot’s old crew stays the night or when Spot is feeling particularly impatient. He quickly washes his face, changes out of his dock clothes, and dresses in his cleanest collared shirt and vest. He tries to attach his pocket watch but his shaking hands won’t work and he swears when it refuses to snap shut.

 

“Hey, hey, easy,” Jack says, suddenly at his elbow. He takes the watch and crouches, deft hands securing it easily. “I knows how close you and Spot is-” No, you don’t. “-and I can’t imagine how I’d feel if it was Davey in the hospital.”

 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline rushing through Race’s body, or maybe it’s the fear, but he can’t control his snort. “It ain’t exactly the same, Cowboy, me and Spot versus you and Mouth.”

 

Jack, for whatever reason, flinches back. “Oh. No, I guess it ain’t.” He rubs at his neck awkwardly. “You don’t mind?” He asks.

 

“Mind what?” Race looks around in confusion. “Mind my- my- Mind Spot being stuck in the hospital with no way to reach him?”

 

“Mind me and Davey,” Jack says, eyes glued to the floor.

 

Race growls and tugs at his hair. “I ain’t in the mood for riddles today, Jack. What the hell does you mean, don’t I mind you and Dave?”

 

“You said that things aren’t exactly the same, between me and Dave as they is between you and Spot.” Did Race say that? He needs to watch his mouth. Jack’s awkwardness suddenly makes more sense and he keeps talking, face looking a little pinched. “And I didn’t know, you know? ‘Cause when someone, you know… ‘knows,’ I expect them to… mind.” Race opens his mouth to cut in and Jack shakes a single finger, asking for a moment. “It ain’t like being queer is a disease, I just expected some kinds of reaction.”

 

So Jack does know. Race had always suspected he might, but that he’d just been decent enough not to start a conversation about it. Race is really, really not in the mood for that conversation right now. “Jack,” he says, closing his eyes and sighing, “If you’s gonna have a go at me and Spot for being queer, can it please wait until after I knows he safe? I knows you don’t understand, but-”

 

“What?!” Jack’s voice, high and shrill and shocked, cuts Race off.

 

“What ‘what’?” Race snaps and opens his eyes to glare at his oldest friend. “We’s been buddies going on a decade, you’s really going to have a go at me for this right now? Of all the moments to do it, we’s picking now?”

 

Jack’s face looks like he just witnessed the second coming of Christ. “Did you just say… that you and Spot is queer? Like, queer together? As in sweethearts?”

 

“We don’t exactly use that word,” Race says, all fight washing out of him. At least he doesn’t look that mad. In fact, he doesn’t look mad at all; just shocked.

 

“Since when?!” Jack yelps and then his head snaps to look at the bedroom. His mouth forms a little ‘o’ and he sticks his head into the doorway. “Aw, hell, I should’s’ve guessed way back in our boarding house days. Ain’t no way Spot Conlon would’ve walked over the Brooklyn Bridge every damn day for nothing less than getting his dick sucked.”

 

Race’s heart makes a audible thump noise in his chest. “Jack, please get out of our bedroom and please don’t talk about me or Spot’s cocks every again.” He squeezes himself around Jack to slam the bedroom door shut. “Now, if you’s had ya fill of gawking, can we please get going?”

 

“What? Oh, hospital, right. But listen, Race-”

 

“Oh for Christ’s sake! What, Jack?!”

 

“Me and Davey are, too. Queer. Sweethearts.” Jack’s smiling widely and Race’s brain really, really needs a break today.

 

He shakes his head, partially to deny what Jack is saying and partially to clear away whatever shreds of the hazed panic is still clinging to his thought. “You? You flirts with anything that moves. And Dave can’t even spit shake, you expects me to believe he’s a cock sucker?”

 

Jack winces. “You’s right, that’s weird,” Jack admits. “Please don’t talk about our dicks. But really. We’ve been together about two and a half years.”

 

“But Dave…? No, really, now’s not the time. Can we please get to the hospital?”

 

Jack only grins and starts ushering Race towards the door. “Yeah, yeah, we’s going. Sarah and Kath is queer too.”

 

“What?!”

 

~

 

Race and Jack make it to the hospital just it time to see Kath dramatically start dabbing her face with a handkerchief.

 

“Oh my poor brother,” she wails. “How’s he doing?”

 

The nurse levels her with a bored stare. “He has the beginnings of hypothermia but he should be fine. Would you like to see him?”

 

“Not without my husband! I couldn’t bear it!” As if on cue, she turns and sees Jack and Race elbowing their way near.

 

He opens his arms and she drapes herself over him. “Laying it on a little thick, Kitty-Kath?” He whispers into her ear. He feels her shrug and he looks over the top of her head at the nurse. “Can we please see my brother-in-law now?”

 

The nurse shrugs. “Just you two, not the friends.” She points at Dave and Jack as if their very presence is an offence.

 

“Of course, no problem,” Dave says, hands up compliantly. “We’ll just wait out here, Racer.”

 

He nods and starts tugging Kath by the hand towards the room the nurse points out. He bursts through the door and stops dead, the sight of Spot, quiet and still, stopping his heart. Kath gives him a soft push and he stumbles forward, hardly registering the ‘snick’ of the door closing behind him. He takes another few shaky steps forward and rests the back of his hand gently against Spot’s forehead. He doesn’t feel either hot or cold, Race thinks; maybe just a little clammy.

 

“Heya, Conlon, you kicked the bucket yet or what?” His voice comes out shaky and his tone doesn’t match the casual, flippant words. But, just as he’d been praying to the god he doesn’t believe in for, Spot’s eyes flutter open. Race lets out a huge sigh of relief and he feels his heart start up again.

 

Spot visibly swallows and when he speaks, his voice comes out dray and cracked. “Tony?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me, Sean,” Race says and watches as the older man struggles sit up a little. “Hey, hey, take it easy, pal,” he says and pushes against Spot’s shoulders.

 

“Why? You worried, Higgins?” Spot follows Race’s prodding and plops back into the pillow, letting out a chest rattling cough that makes both men wince.

 

“Only about ya half of the rent.” Race says weakly and struggles not to swipe at Spot’s locks, uncomfortably aware of Kath behind him- “Oh,” he says out loud and turns to look Kath up and down. “Is you and Sarah really queer?”

 

“What?!” Kath’s face goes a little white and on the bed, Spot coughs again in surprise. Kath starts to stammer and make jerky hand motions. “No! I don’t know what- Shit!”

 

Race shuts Kath up by planting a searing kiss on Spot’s chapped lips. He runs his fingers through Spot’s hair, tucking the greasy, salt-water crusty locks behind his ears, and then pulls away a scant inch and rests his forehead against the other man’s. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again, Sean.”

 

Spot nods weakly and smiles. “I won’t. Not on ya life.” He struggles to free one of his hands from the blankets and grabs onto Race with a crushing grip.

 

“You scared me real bad. How’s you feeling?” Race pulls back enough to look at the other boy and he runs his free hand up and down his arm.

 

“Like I fell off a ship into the East River in December, Race.” He wiggles in the bed a little and groans, muscles surely sore. “Shitty, but I’ll be fine.”

 

Behind the pair, comes a quiet, feminine cough. “I hate to interrupt,” Kath says, still looking perplexed. “But the nurse said you have hypothermia and a mild concussion, so for once in your life, just do as you’re told, Spot.”

 

“You heard’s my wife, do what I say,” Race says, which earns a laugh from Kath and a confused pout from Spot.

 

They spend the next fifteen minutes explaining their infiltration plot to the older man, which prompts him to start calling Kath ‘sis’. Race is just about to hop out to the lobby to update Dave and Jack when-

 

 _Tap, tap_. Katherine yelps, Race jerks off the bed defensively, and Spot -damn him- calmly turns to look at the window. “Heya, Cowboy! Race, open the window for Cowboy.”

 

“They’s gonna kick us out,” Race mutters but complies, popping open the window and wincing at the harsh winter breeze that blows in. “Hurry up, hurry up, come on.” He ushers in first Jack, who’s as calm and casual as always, and then Dave, who looks a little intimidated by the third story window but climbs in deftly none the less. “Mouth, shake a leg,” he rushes. “We’s got a man on his death bed in here and you’s letting all the cold in.”

 

Dave straightens up and glares. “I’m assuming he’s fine, if we’re joking about it?”

 

“No, I’s dying,” Spot confirms from where he’s still tucked into the bed. He shoots a shit-eating grin at the newcomers and then coughs dramatically. “And my last wish is to see Cowboy Kelly plant a big fat kiss on the Walking Mouth of Manhattan.”

 

Dave makes a complicated series of hand gestures, face exasperated. “This, Jack! This is what we can expect from now on! You think jokes from Sarah and Katherine are bad? Now we’re going to have the raunchiest two fellas from Brooklyn and Manhattan making cracks at our love life.” His voice goes a little high on the end and Race just can’t help himself.

 

He slings an arm over Dave’s shoulder -it’s a bit of a reach but he can make it on his tip toes- and shakes him playfully. “I’s gotta see what that mouth of ya’s looks like in action.”

 

“Oh, get off me,” Dave snaps and shoves him away.

 

Behind them, Jack laughs, light and carefree. He gently tugs Dave towards him, places one hand on his waist, the other on his neck, and leans in to kiss Dave on the lips. It’s soft and tender and within seconds, Dave is going loose-limbed and pliant, leaning into the taller man. Jack takes the extra weight easily and after another few seconds, they part. Race is struck by the sight. He’s never seen two guys kiss outside of a club he had gone to once a few years ago and he’d been too young then to see anything but the risk of it. Now, he sees tenderness and commitment and wonders if that’s how he and Spot look.

 

“Hey, Race,” Spot says from the bed, breaking the silence. “How’s come you don’t kiss me like that?”

 

Race rolls his eyes and goes to curl up on the edge of the hospital bed, filling the familiar space between Spot’s right arm and chest. “’Cause you never say nothing sweet. I bet Mouth is a real lovey-dovey kind’a fella. He’s probably always saying things like ‘you got beautiful eyes’ or ‘you’s my sun and moon’. Right?” He looks over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows questioningly at Jack.

 

Jack blushes, Dave smirks, and Kath erupts into a fit of giggles. “Oh, these boys? No, Dave is clueless. Jack’s the one who waxes poetic like you wouldn’t believe.”

 

“Come on, Kath-” Jack is cut off by Dave, who wiggles out of his hold to settle into the chair by the bed side.

 

“If I had a penny for every time Jacky has compared my eyes to the morning sky, I’d be able to buy every pape off every newsie in New York.” He smiles and leans in closer to Spot and Race, pitching his voice to something secretive. “You should hear what he’s got to say about my smile.”

 

Jack whacks at the back of Dave’s head with his hat. “Oh, shut up. Race and Spot don’t need to hear that shit.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and glares and beside Race, Spot cackles.

 

“You knows I do, Cowboy.” He moves to sit up and Race stops him with a soft hand and a harsh look. Spot rolls his eyes but obeys. “No sitting up, I got’s it, Nurse Higgins. Now, Cowboy, I wanna hear everything.”

 

And slowly but surely, they do. Race laughs when he finds out that Spot was only a few feet away from their first kiss, hoots in approval when he finds out that Dave was de-flowered in a hay loft, and has to bite at his lip to stop from smiling when Jack talks about asking Dave to move in together. Kath gives them the same stories for her and Sarah and then the trio teams up against him and Spot, needling them for details like school girls. Race caves fairly quickly and tells the full story -ignoring Spot’s protests that he’s exaggerating things- and soon, Dave, Jack, and Kath are all laughing so hard, Race worries that the nurse will come and interrupt.

 

Just as Race is getting to a good part, Kath interrupts around her giggles. “No! No way! The women’s toilet behind the bar at the Sheepshead racetrack? That’s where you got together?”

 

“No, no, no! You ain’t listening! That’s where we’s kissed for the first time,” Spot corrects. “We didn’t kiss again for another two months and we didn’t ‘get together’ for another six.”

 

“What? Why not?” Dave demands from where he’s stroking his fingers through Jack’s hair.

 

Race looks at Spot with raised eyebrows. “Do you’s wanna tell them, Conlon, or should I?” He pokes at Spot’s cheek and smirks when his hand is smacked away.

 

“’Cause I… Well…” Spot mumbles into the blanket and Jack puts a hand to his ear.

 

“What was that, Spot?” He teases. “I couldn’t hear you.”

 

“’Cause I punched him in the face!” Spot snaps, glaring.

 

“What?!” “Spot!” Kath and Dave both look scandalized and Jack starts laughing so hard he has to clutch at his ribs.

 

Race laughs too and it feels good, he decides, to share this stuff with people. “He panicked! I kissed him and he kissed me back for at least thirty seconds and then he reared back and clocked me straight in the nose!”

 

“Wait, wait, I remember this,” Dave says suddenly, sitting up straight. “You said that you got that broken nose teaching Les how to punch. He told me the whole story.”

 

“Ya brother’s always been a better liar than you,” Race says easily.

 

Spot rolls his eyes. “Cost me two damn quarter, too. One to tell the lie and one ‘cause we’s wouldn’t tell him what actually happened. I should take it out on you, Cowboy, you’s the one who taught him to negotiate like that.”

 

Dave rolls his eyes and directs his attention back to Jack’s hair. “Don’t bribe my brother to keep your homosexual love affair a secret,” he admonishes lightly.

 

Race is about to point out that Les, who is twelve and still more interested in marbles and chocolates than girls, probably doesn’t even know what homosexual means, when Spot starts up on another coughing fit and can’t seem to calm down. It draws the attention of the nurse -who is not pleased to find the room crowded, to say the least- and gets them all kicked out. Race, now in possession of the knowledge of which window he needs to climb through, promises Spot that he’ll visit tomorrow.

 

He stays with Dave and Jack that night and wonders how he never noticed that the sheets on their pull out couch are always fresh, no matter how much of a surprise his visit it.

 

**Five ~ Esther**

 

_~March 1903~_

 

Esther likes to think that she’s a good mother. She was caring but stern, attentive but encouraged independence, and was loving above all else. Mayer too, she is sure, did the best that any father could in their situation. And for the most part, her children turned out great. Les is a smart, hard-working boy who has been balancing work and school for going on four years. Dave is a high school graduate and a teacher and is enrolled in night classes at college. Imagine that- Esther’s son, a college student. Sarah is a kindhearted woman who helps everybody she can and is widely regarded as the most eligible woman on their block.

 

There is Esther’s stumbling block, of course. Sarah, at twenty-three, is the oldest unmarried girl both at the laundry and at their synagogue. In fact, the only unmarried woman that Esther knows who is older than Sarah is… Katherine.

 

“Happy birthday, Katherine,” Esther murmurs and presses a kiss to the girl’s temple. She loves her adopted daughter as much as her own three flesh and blood children -and Jack- and she refuses to let her dark thoughts cloud the day’s festivities. “Have another slice of cake.”

 

“I couldn’t eat another bite, Esther,” she says, laughing and waving away the offered plate.

 

Beside her, Sarah smiles sweetly and stands to help her mother with the tiding up. “Don’t worry, Mama, we’ll take the leftovers home with us.”

 

Right… Home. Because Katherine and Sarah are roommates now. Esther’s smile feels like plaster, cracking under pressure. “Of course, Sarah,” she says out loud. “What about you, Dave?”

 

“Yes, please.” Dave, from where he’s tucked into the couch between a roughhousing Les and Jack, raises his voice to be heard. “You know how much Jack loves your strawberry cake.”

 

“Of course I do.” Esther’s smile teeters on the edge of cartoonishly unrealistic.

 

The day passes like most of their family gatherings do. Les and Jack tussle until Esther scolds them, Katherine and Dave ‘discuss’ politics, Mayer and Sarah get lost over a game of chess, and then the men retire to the roof to smoke while Esther, Sarah, and Katherine start a game of bridge. When Mayer returns from the roof and readies for bed, Esther makes quick work of the girls -they’ll never be a match for her at bridge- and sticks her head out the window to call the boys in.

 

“Les,” she says, as soon as her youngest son crawls in through the window. “Could you do me a favor?”

 

“’Course, Mama,” he says, as laid back as ever. God bless Les.

 

She hopes her voice doesn’t come out as strangled as it feels when she instructs him to go pick up some rhubarb from the market. She was just told by Beth down the hall that they were out of rhubarb, so hopefully it will send Les all the way to Kline Street and give Esther plenty of alone time with her older children. He agrees and heads out without any sign that he thinks the errand is a little frivolous for a Tuesday evening and Esther levels a look at her poor, unsuspecting victims.

 

“Let’s have a seat, shall we?” She says pleasantly to the room at large. Katherine and Jack obey promptly, eager as ever -even after going on four years- to be included in Jacobs family activities. Sarah follows them, as easy going as her father, and that leaves Dave and Esther staring at each suspiciously. She should have seen it as the first sign, in hindsight, that Dave was so much more like his mother than his father. She just thought she’d been unlucky at the time, getting stuck with a boy too smart for his own good and too self-righteous for hers.

 

He tilts his head to the side ever so slowly and asks casually, “is everything okay, Mama?”

 

“As long as everything is okay with you,” Esther responds and she knows the politeness of her voice isn’t extending to her eyes. “Now, please, join your sister and Jack and Katherine on the couch.”

 

He does so, slowly, and squeezes himself into the space between Jack and Sarah. “I just ask because you’ve been behaving a little strangely tonight,” he adds.

 

Jack elbows her son roughly. “What’cha playing at, Davey? You keeps questioning her and she’ll stop making us pie.”

 

“Yes, Davey, you’d hate to lose your pie,” Esther demurs as she settles onto the coffee table.

 

Something about her tone must be have finally caught Katherine’s attention, because she starts squinting. She’s always been the most cunning, after Dave. “Esther,” she starts and squirms a little on the low couch. “If something’s wrong, you can just tell us. Are you and Mayer both okay?”

 

“Fit as a fiddle,” Esther assures and then decides to skip straight into her prepared presentation. “I’ve just been meaning to ask; when will Jack and Sarah finally be getting married?”

 

“What?!” “Mama, what did you-” “I’m not marrying Jack-” “Jack is NOT marrying Sarah-” All four young adults start falling over each other and Esther waves her hand sharply. Dave has gone pale and wide eyed and Jack looks… sad; heart broken, actually. Katherine looks angry, face as red as Dave’s is white, and fists clenched in the folds of her skirt. Sarah looks just flat out confused, as if such a concept is beyond the realm of her comprehension.

 

“I want you all to listen to me,” Esther says calmly. “And I will not suffer interruptions.” She pauses momentarily, to make sure that they’re listening and then plows forward. “Sarah is the oldest girl at work and at temple who isn’t married yet. For Katherine it’s understandable, what with her being a career woman and all. But for you, Sarah, it’s starting to seem a little strange.” She feels tears prickling in her eyes -tears for her children, fearful tears at what will happen if this whole… business is exposed- and she wipes at them roughly. “And of course, once you’re married, you’ll move in together. Katherine is such a dear friend of yours, she’ll move in as well, isn’t that nice? And your poor bachelor brother will come along, at least until he finds a wife of his own.”

 

She pauses for breath and Dave’s voice fills the silence. “Mama…” He starts and then trails off, swallows, and starts again. “Mama, I think that’s just a swell idea.”

 

“Real swell,” Katherine agrees, nodding frantically at Sarah’s elbow.

 

Jack pitches to his feet, eyes wide. “How long have you known?” His voice is dazed and weak.

 

“Know what, Mister Kelly?” Esther responds smoothly, standing as well and reaching up to fiddle with his collar. “How long you’ve fancied my daughter? It isn’t obvious but… a mother knows, Jack.”

 

Sarah is still sitting, slack jawed and wide eyed, between Dave and Katherine. When she speaks, her voice is soft but commanding, drawing every eye in the room; she really is just like her father. “But Jack isn’t Jewish, Mama.”

 

That makes Esther and Dave both crack up in laughter and Katherine and Jack join in. It must get too loud because Mayer emerges from the bedroom, wrapped in his night robe and squinting, “What’s got you all laughing like hooligans?” He demands.

 

“Well, Jack and Sarah have just announced their engagement, my dear,” Esther says sweetly.

 

Mayer blinks once, twice, and then nods. “Oh, that’s good. I’m assuming he knows about her bought with polio?”

 

“Sarah never had polio,” Dave argues. “What do you mean?”

 

Mayer tilts his head at Dave and shrugs. “You were so young you must not remember it. She was horribly ill. The doctor said she’ll likely never be able to bear children. So tragic, isn’t it?” His voice sounds genuinely remorseful and Esther has to stifle another laugh.

 

“So… tragic…” Sarah agrees and stands. She takes one shaky step towards Esther and falls into her arms and they hug so tightly that Esther grunts in pain.

 

She can hear Katherine and Dave whispering on the couch and Jack joking with Mayer that he’ll finally be his real father and Esther thinks that, as long as Les doesn’t find a way to snub her out of grandchildren as well, things will be fine. Speaking of Les…

 

“What’s going on in here?” Les, at thirteen, has mastered the art of being annoyed and he conveys it now, looking around at the room of adults with narrowed eyes.

 

Jack grins, all jaunty humor and careless joy. “Sarah and I are getting married, pal. Don’t tell Dave, but I was hoping you’d be my best man.”

 

Les’ eyes dart back and forth between Sarah and Jack and then Dave and Jack, before throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “But he’s not even Jewish!” He finally manages.

 

_~June 1903~_

 

Despite Jack’s endless teasing, Dave serves as the best man, Katherine as the maid of honor, and Les and Crutchie as the witnesses. The ceremony is nice, even if Jack repeats the Yiddish vows with cringe worthy pronunciation and Dave visibly flinches at the kiss. Afterwards, they have a picnic in Central Park with the newsies and some of Sarah’s girls from the laundry. There’s laughter and easy conversation and if she doesn’t look at how closely Katherine is to sitting in Sarah’s lap, she can almost fool herself into thinking that there’s no ulterior ‘arraignment’,

 

“This is nice,” she says to Mayer, where they’re curled up together at the edge of the group.

 

He hums in acknowledgment. “It’d be nicer if I didn’t know what was actually going to be happening tonight.”

 

Esther is about to elbow her husband for his blasé comment when Les pops up between them, young face earnest. “What’s happening tonight?” He asks, all youthful naivety.

 

“Oh my- Mayer!” Esther buries her face in her hands. “I’m not dealing with this, I’m going to serve the cake.”

 

She hurries off and prays with all her might that at least Les seems to be headed down the path that leads to grandchildren.

 

**~And the One Who Knew All Along~**

 

_~September 1906~_

 

Les is… buzzed, he thinks is the term. It’s the seventh annual newsboy union meeting and he’s definitely, definitely buzzed. And president. And sixteen. He’s been elected president of a union at sixteen. Take that, Dave.

 

“Take what?” Dave asks beside him, voice amused.

 

Opps. Had he said that out loud?

 

Dave laughs and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Yes, you did, baby brother. I think you’ve had enough.”

 

“Let the boy drink,” Jack adds. Jack’s here? “He’s a president now, Davey, he deserves to live a little.”

 

Les nods enthusiastically. “Exactly, Davey, I’m president now. And I say…” He blinks and tries to think of what presidents say. “I say… I want more booze!”

 

People laugh and Les smiles, satisfied. The night passes in a bit of a blur but he tunes back in for Spot and Jack’s annual speech, about how the union was founded on brotherhood and loyalty and blah, blah, blah. He manages to get his hands on another drink eventually and downs about half of it before it’s pried out of his hands by an exasperated Dave. “There is no way I’m letting you go home to Mama like this,” he says and starts pulling Les to his feet.

 

“Like what?” Les asks as he stumbles along behind his brother. “What’s wrong?”

 

“You’re slobbering drunk!” Dave exclaims loudly. Jack’s laughing again and Les joins in, even though he thinks the joke was at his expense.

 

Jack manages to get an arm under Les’ shoulder; they’re almost the same height now. “He’ll just come home with us. Sarah and Kath is still upstate at their woman meeting-”

 

“Suffrage convention.”

 

“That’s what I said. Nobody needs to know that the kid brother got pissed at his election party.”

 

Even as Dave snorts in disbelief, Les grins widely. “Thanks, Cowboy. Jack. Jacky-boy. Thanks. You’re my favorite brother,” he says seriously, stumbling a little to try and pat Jack on the shoulder.

 

“That’s nice. I’m second place to the brother-in-law. I guess I should have seen this coming seven years ago when he convinced you we be selling partners.” Dave pushes the door to their apartment open -three bedrooms, which Les thinks is just a blatant waste of money- and helps Jack settle Les down onto the worn couch. “My whole life’s been downhill since then,” he moans dramatically but, even drunk, Les can tell that he’s not actually upset and only playing along.

 

“You twos never stood a chance,” Jack agrees. “I had you’s both wrapped around my finger ‘fore you even know what was happening.”

 

“Yeah, but-” He curls up around his stomach and groans. “I think I’m gonna be sick, Davey,” he whimpers. Dave swears and darts into the kitchen and presses a bowl into Les’ grip just as he loses the contents of his stomach. He wretches for a few minutes, trying to ignore Jack’s laughter and Dave’s disapproving tuts.

 

“Better?” Dave asks, voice a little smug.

 

Les nods weakly. “Are you gonna tell Ma?”

 

“Only if you get sick on my floor,” Dave quips at the same time that Jack protests, “no way, Les.”

 

Les grunts and curls up around his stomach. “Thanks, Jacky. Told you, favorite brother.”

 

“And you’s my favorite brother, too,” Jack assures him. “Just don’t tell Davey.”

 

Over Dave’s protest, Les shakes his head, mind latching onto the imagery. “That’s disgusting, Jack.”

 

“What’s disgusting?” He asks, squatting so that they’re eye level.

 

“Don’t call us both your brothers,” Les says into the couch cushions.

 

“Hey,” Jack says, suddenly serious. “What’s that mean? You guys are my whole world, Les, you knows that.”

 

“I know we’re both important to you, Jacky. Just- if you’re gonna call Dave your brother, you’ve gotta come up with another word for me.” Les manages to roll over and he presses his face into the couch cushion. “’Cause I really don’t think brothers are supposed to suck each other’s cocks.” And then he falls asleep.

 

~

 

The next morning, he wakes to a pounding headache and a dry mouth. He struggles up and into the kitchen where he chugs a glass of water- and then immediately throws it up into the sink. He leans against the counter moaning until he hears shuffling footsteps behind him and looks over his shoulder to find Dave, holding himself gingerly and wrapped in a night coat.

 

“How do you feel, Les?” He asks, voice pitched low.

 

“Like shit,” Les manages. He wipes at his face and flops into a kitchen chair. “What the hell did I do last night?”

 

Dave’s face flickers between distress and hopefulness. “You… don’t remember?”

 

The younger brother snorts. “Yes, I remember, Dave, I meant it more as a hypothetical. You know, more like a ‘why did I do that’?” He stretches and stands, rubbing at his temple. “Do you think I could convince Jack to run to the grocer and pick me up a seltzer? My stomach is rolling.”

 

“Les, are you…?” Dave’s voice cracks and Les sees the beginning of tears forming in his brother’s blue eyes.

 

“Shit! Why are you crying, Davey?” He stumbles over and wraps his arms around his big brother. He’s taller now, just over the past three months or so, and he likes being able to tuck Dave’s head into his shoulder; to be able to offer some sort of strength and protection to the brother who has done so much for him. “Is everything okay?”

 

Dave shakes his head against Les’ chest and pulls back. “Last night… Les, last night you made a joke about- that is, Jack and I… Les, you implied that Jack and I-” Dave swallows roughly and squeezes his eyes tight. “You-said-Jack-and-I-were-queer!” He blurts out all in a rush.

 

“And?” Les asks, looking around in confusion.

 

Dave’s eye pop open incredulously. “And?! That’s not exactly page nine news, Les!”

 

“It’s been… Jesus Christ, Dave, it’s been over seven years. Are you really freaking out about this now?” Les rummages through the kitchen and finds a loaf of bread that he starts picking bites off of. When there’s no response, he turns to find Dave frozen in shocked confusion. “What’s your problem?”

 

The older man manages a high pitched growl and throws his hands in the air. “Are you saying you’ve known about Jack and me? For how long?” He demands.

 

Les sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I was waiting for you to tell me first.”

 

“What?!”

 

Dave is starting to look a little hysterical, so Les puts up his hands in the universal ‘calm down’ symbol.  “Just take it easy there, _bruder_. Where’s Jack?”

 

“In his and Sarah’s bedroom,” Dave wheezes.

 

Les rolls his eyes and pushes Dave by the shoulders into a chair. “Please don’t tell me you guys sleep in the wrong beds every time I spend the night.”

 

“You weren’t supposed to know!” He screeches. “You’re my kid brother, you’re not even supposed to know about sex yet- Oh my god. Is this why you laugh every time we try and offer you girl advice?”

 

Les doesn’t dignify that with a response and goes to collect Jack. He doesn’t bother knocking and swings the door open to find Jack fully dressed and pacing the length of the -clearly unused, come on guys, are you even trying- bedroom. “I’m hungover and your husband is getting hysterical, will you please come make breakfast?”

 

“What did you just say?!”

 

_~July 1899~_

 

Les likes Jack a lot. He knows he’s only ten -well, near ten- but he thinks that Jack is probably the nicest person he’s ever met and the smartest too, after Davey. And speaking of Davey… if Les likes Jack.... well, Davey likes Jack _a_ _lot_ a lot. He’s always laughing at things Jack says even though Davey hardly ever laughs at anything, unless he’s being ‘sarcastic’ or ‘ironic’. Tonight they’re not doing much laughing, mostly just planning for the strike- which is another reason Les likes Jack.

 

“We’s should be wrapping up anyways,” Les hears Jack say from where he’s playing marbles under the table. “You tired, Les?” Jack swings his legs playfully and Les crawls out from under the table smiling.

 

“I suppose,” he says. He thinks about the long walk home and wonders how many times Jack would be able to get Dave to laugh. “Will you walk us home?”

 

Dave tuts his tongue. He probably thinks that that was a rude thing for Les to say. “Jack needs his sleep, Les, don’t-”

 

“Don’t be silly, Davey,” Jack interrupts and ruffles Les’ hair. He turns to the old guy who runs the newsie boarding house and says politely, “I won’t be out too late, okay?”

 

“Sure thing, kid.” The old man says.

 

The walk home is even more fun than Les could have hoped. Jack gives him a piggy back ride and Dave lets them stop by the stable even though they’re already late. “Come on, Davey, it’ll be fun,” Jack goads. “I like to pet the horses.”

 

Dave groans and rolls his eyes but says okay anyways. He never gives in to Les like that.

 

_~August 1899~_

 

After the first time he sees Dave and Jack kissing, Les decides he should start spending more time with Kath and Sarah. He misses hanging out with the other boys but kissing is kind of gross and besides, Kath is almost as fun as Jack. She buys them ice cream and makes Sarah smile. Sarah doesn’t smile enough, Les thinks. Where Dave is uptight and anxious, Sarah is always sad and worried. She’s the type of person who wants to help but doesn’t know how. Kath is the type of person who does help and Les can see in his sister’s eyes how taken she is with the idea.

 

They usually hang out around Kath’s apartment and one night, as he’s lying on her bed almost asleep, he hears his name and blinks awake.

 

“I guess I should wake Les up,” Sarah is saying in a low voice.

 

“Right, okay. Tell your folks I said hello.” Kath stubs out a cigarette; the girls both pretend like they don’t smoke so Les never says anything about it. “I wish you could stay.”

 

Sarah’s answer is so quiet that Les can’t hear it. He peeks his eyes open and sees -oh come on- Kath and Sarah kissing. After only a few seconds, there’s a knock on the door and they both jerk back and straighten. “Time for your guest to leave, Katherine,” says Kath’s grouchy land lady from the doorway.

 

“Of course, ma’am, time just got away from us,” Sarah says easily.

 

Les scowls as he climbs off the bed and shoos Sarah’s hands away when she tries to help him with his coat. “Don’t need your help.”

 

“Okay, Les, that’s fine,” his sister acquiesces. “Thank you for the fine evening, Kath.”

 

“Bye, Kath,” Les adds.

 

“Bye.” Katherine watches them leave and Les can’t help but notice that she looks a little sad. She must want to keep kissing Sarah, Les figures, even as gross as it sounds to him. Big kids are so weird.

 

When they get back to their apartment, Les figures it couldn’t hurt to try. As soon as they walk in the door, Les tugs on Sarah’s hand and pitches his voice loud enough for his mother to hear. “Do you think Kath will be okay, Sarah?”

 

“Why do you ask, Les?” Esther asks, just as he knew she would. She’s always worried about Jack and Kath. “Is everything okay, Sarah?”

 

Sarah opens her mouth to responds but Les is too quick. “She didn’t look so good when we left. I think maybe she’s sick, Mama,” he says, pouting just the way Jack taught him.

 

Sarah’s eyes pop open wide and she swallows before nodding hastily. “He’s right, Mama, I think she had a bit of a fever.” She places a tentative hand on the door handle. “Do you think I should go stay with her? Just in case?” Les thinks that Sarah’s laying in on a little think with the eyelash fluttering but maybe girls can get away with that.

 

Esther agrees and Sarah is off like a shot and Les goes to climb in bed beside a whistling Dave. He bumps shoulders with Les and smiles. “You have fun with the girls?”

 

“Yeah. You and Jack have fun at the track?” Les asks neutrally.

 

“Yeah,” Dave says and he blushes a little. “Yeah, we had fun.”

 

Ew.

 

_~January 1900~_

 

Les knows, in the abstract, that homosexuality is bad. It’s against the law and against the _Tenakh_ and most people seem to dislike it just on principle. It doesn’t really connect with Les that that’s what Dave and Sarah are doing until he finds out about Race and Spot.

 

Jack is busy handling business in Queens and Dave has a meeting with his teacher about a fight he’d been in at school -which he hadn’t even started- so when Les gets out of class, he latches onto Race. The older boy usually sells at the Sheepshead Racetrack in Brooklyn and Les follows happily. Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge is always fun and this time, Race teaches him how to hitch a ride on the back of a dairy truck. Dave would never have let that slide -even if Jack had been the one suggest it- so Les enjoys the moment while he can. When they get to the track, Les is surprised to see Spot Conlon leaning against the entrance.

 

“Got a shadow, Race?” Spot quips as he snubs out his smoke. “I thought he was Kelly’s pity pitch.”

 

Race swings halfheartedly at Spot and ends up just slinging an arm around the -slightly- taller boy. “Dave and Jack is both busy, so he’s with us for the day.”

 

“That’s fine by me. Hey, kid, you like the races?” Spot asks, addressing Les for the first time.

 

Les shrugs. “Suppose. Mama says they’re bad but I think it’s the gambling she don’t like.” He tightens his grip on his papers as he looks up at Spot. Everybody else seems to be scared of the boy but he’s never been anything but nice to Les.

 

For whatever reason, Spot and Race both think that that’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. They laugh with each other the way Blink and Mush do, all splayed out and slapping at each other’s backs. Les thinks that maybe if Spot were a little bit more like Mush, people wouldn’t be so scared of him.

 

They split up for a while to sell and Les takes the nosebleed seats, coughing and pouting and hawking just like Jack had taught him. He’s out of papers soon enough and he scans the crowd for one of the older boys. It doesn’t help that they’re both so short but he sees a newspaper being shook above the crowd eventually and he makes his way towards it, ending up outside of the bar’s restrooms. He pokes his head into the men’s toilets and doesn’t see anything and is about to go try the bar itself when he hears the familiar sound of Race’s laugh.

 

“Come on, Conlon, don’t tell me you’s scared.” His voice echoes and Les frowns. Are they in the lady’s toilet?

 

Spot’s voice echoes back from the same direction and Les creeps closer, curiosity caught. “I ain’t scared of nothing, Higgins.”

 

Les peeks around the corner and sees that the two boys are in the far corner, Race slowly penning Spot in. “Then why’s you backing away?” He asks lowly.

 

“’Cause you’s too damn close!” Spot all but spits. “Come on, Race, don’t do anything you might regret.”

 

Les thinks he probably meant for it to sound threatening but it only makes the boy sound shaken. And then- Race leaps forward and kisses Spot. He can’t look away, torn between fascinated disgust and confused shock. Race and Spot aren’t like Sarah and Kath, who lean close and giggle, or like Dave and Jack, who fall all over themselves to do nice things for each other; they’re almost always fighting or bickering or poking at each other.

 

After a solid half minute of smooching, just as Les is coming back to himself enough to look away, Spot pulls back and- _crack!_

 

“What the hell, Sean!” Race yelps, holding a hand up to his now bleeding face. “You just broke my nose, you bastard!”

 

“Well, don’t go pulling that cock sucker shit with me if you’s don’t want to get what’s coming ya way,” Spot snarls and ducks around Race to leave.

 

Les scrambles out of the bathroom and turns the corner just in time. When Spot exits the bathroom, he almost trips over the younger boy and glares down at him. “What the fuck is you doing over here?” He snaps.

 

Les doesn’t know what Spot’s mad at him for, so he shrugs. “I’m outta papes.”

 

Behind Spot, Race exits the toilet, face still streaming blood. “Hey, Les,” he says casually, as if he doesn’t look like he just got soaked by a whole baseball team. “Sold all ya papes?”

 

“Yeah. What happened to your face?” He asks back, aiming to match the casual tone.

 

Race frowns and exchanges a weary glance with Spot. “Listen, kid,” he says and bends down a little so that they’re eye level. “I’m’s not gonna lie, I got myself into a spot of trouble.” He laughs a little and Race must think Les is actually seven like Jack demands he claim, to be stupid enough not to catch that joke. “And I really don’t want Cowboy or Mouth knowing about it. You know what’d be real swell, kid?” He asks, smiling sweetly with blood stained teeth.

 

Les squints a little. “What?” He asks.

 

“If you could tell all the other boys that you’s the one who broke my nose. Let’s just say I was teaching you to punch and that you’s was better at it than I thought, huh?” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows a little.

 

Les thinks about it for a moment and then holds out a hand. “One quarter. And you tell me why you actually got punched.”

 

Spot snorts and shakes his head. “You sure you a Jacobs and not a Kelly?” He retorts incredulously.

 

“I’m not telling you why,” Race says seriously. “Take the quarter or leave it.”

 

“How about… two quarters and you can keep your secret?” Les offers and wiggles his still extended hand.

 

Spot throws his hands in the air and swears and Race chuckles lowly. “You’s born to be a gambler, Les, and don’t let nobody tell you no different.” He digs around in his pocket and pulls out his change and frowns. “Spot,” he says, standing to face the older boy. “I’s only got one quarter, fork up.”

 

“No way!” Spot exclaims. “This is ya own damn mess!”

 

Race rolls his eyes and shoves at Spot lightly. “Now’s not the time to be stingy, come on.”

 

“Oh- fine. But fuck you, Higgins.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’s heard it all before.”

 

Les takes his two quarters and brags about it to Dave and Jack later. He also takes away a lesson that two boys kissing is the type of thing that really needs to be kept a secret.

 

_~June 1900~_

 

Aside from Jack, Crutchie is Les’ favorite newsie. He’s funny and nice and they make a real good selling team. He’s also the one who Les usually gets stuck with when Jack and Dave are off kissing, on account of Crutchie kind of being Jack’s little brother, the way Les is Dave’s.

 

Now that summer is finally here, the Jacobs get to spend way more time with the newsies again and so Les has taken to corralling Crutchie into games of marbles or checkers every chance he gets. On this particular night, though, he gets distracted by Boots at the door and before he knows it, a whole ten minutes have passed. He scurries up the stairs to the bedroom and finds Crutchie halfway out the window, probably headed up to the roof to try and find Jack.

 

“Crutchie!” He shouts and rushes over. He knows what Jack and Dave do when they’re on the roof and Crutchie does not need to see that. When he has Crutchie’s attention, he waggles the bag of marbles in his hand. “Wanna play with me?”

 

Crutchie smiles, easy going as always, and swings back over the window edge and into the bedroom. “Sure, kid,”

 

_~March 1903~_

 

Les is thirteen and more aware of the world than he’d once been. He’s started getting harassed at school the way he remembers Dave having to put up with and he can read between the lines in the newspaper articles that talk about people getting arrested for sexual deviance. He doesn’t quite understand why a fella would want to be with another fella, not when there are dames around -dames which make Les more than a little nervous these days- but he’s taken it upon himself to protect Dave and Sarah and his two adopted siblings from the things they don’t seem to notice.

 

Dave can’t manage to look at Jack with anything short of adoration so Les makes sure to coax Jack into roughhousing as much as possible, something that never fails to annoy Dave. Kath seems hell bent on preaching about women’s rights every chance she gets and Les ends up having to step in and distract her. Listen; it’s not that Les disagrees with what she’s saying, but an unmarried woman can only preach about the uselessness of men for so long before it starts to get suspicion.

 

Kath’s birthday party follows this pattern perfectly- until Les’ mother asks him to go pick up some rhubarb. At ten o’clock. On a Tuesday. After he heard Mrs. Tevye mention that the market was all out. “’Course, Mama,” he says anyways, because if his mother is scheming something, he wants to be as far away as possible. So he jogs down to the second closest market, buys a bundle of rhubarb, and jogs back. When he enters the apartment -about half an hour later- he finds all four of the twenty-somethings and both of his parents celebrating loudly.

 

“What’s going on in here?” He demands, immediately suspicious.

 

Jack grins, one of his reassuring smiles that doesn’t work on Les anymore. “Sarah and I are getting married, pal. Don’t tell Dave, but I was hoping you’d be my best man.”

 

“But- But…” Les tries to stomp on the sudden well of panic. Sarah and Jack get along well enough but if Jack isn’t joking… Dave would be crushed. When Les tries to gauge his brother’s reaction though, he seems fairly at ease. Still, he can’t just stand by and watch this happen. So he says the first thing that pops into his mind. “But he’s not even Jewish!” Everybody laughs, even though Les doesn’t find the situation very humorous.

 

He sulks in the corner until the rest of the kids leave and his mother goes to bed. His father settles down beside him and they sit in silence for a moment before the man places a soft hand on Les’ shoulder. “Things aren’t always as simple as they seem,” he starts, clearly uncomfortable.

 

Les isn’t sure how much his father knows but he can’t help but voice his concerns, however partially. “What are Dave and Kath going to do after Sarah and Jack get married?”

 

“They’re going to look for a three bedroom apartment. Why do you ask?” Mayer asks hesitantly.

 

“Oh.” Les’ frayed mind immediately grabs onto the new information. If they’re all moving in together… and neither Dave nor Kath seem upset… “Right. Okay, thanks, Pa. I’m going to bed now.”

 

Mayer looks relieved at that and disappears into his bedroom without another word.

 

_~June 1903~_

 

Les isn’t Jack’s best man, not that he’s surprised. He would have refused anyways. Dave deserves to be by Jack’s side on his wedding day, even if it’s on the wrong side. Sarah and Kath both look beautiful and Les manages not to gag at the sight of Jack and Sarah kissing, even if it’s disturbingly wrong.

 

They have a picnic in Central Park later and Les and Crutchie stretch out together on a blanket, naming clouds like they used to on the roof of the boarding house. “Do you think they’s going to all stay in the new apartment tonight? I feels like that will look weird,” Crutchie says up at the sky.

 

“I dunno,” Les sighs. “They didn’t cover two queer couples living together in my temple marriage class, maybe that’s standard.”

 

“Watch ya mouth,” Crutchie says without bite and smacks at Les’ shoulder

 

Les only rolls his eyes. “Nobody’s paying attention to the kid brothers, Crutch. I could serenade you and they wouldn’t look my way for how oblivious the rest of them are.”

 

Crutchie leans up and rests his weight on his elbows. “How many folks here you thinks knows the truth?” He asks, looking around at the scattering of friends and family.

 

“Not many,” Les answers. Some of the girls from Sarah’s laundry are making daisy chains and a bunch of the newsies from their strike days are smoking cigars over cards. Les’ mother and father are curled up on a blanket watching with slightly relieved expressions and Les can hardly contain his exasperated sigh. “But probably more than they think.”

 

Crutchie grunts in agreement and falls back onto the ground. “I’m’s taking a nap.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Les grouses and gets up to find somebody else to bug. He decides on his parents and approaches them from behind, walking on quiet feet the way Jack taught him.

 

“It’d be nicer,” Mayer is saying, “if I didn’t know what was actually going to be happening tonight.”

 

And then, like Dave taught him, Les quickly inserts himself into the conversation. “What’s happening tonight?” He asks, coating his voice in politeness.

 

Esther yelps in shock. “Oh my-! Mayer! I’m not dealing with this, I’m going to serve the cake.”

 

Mayer looks, quite frankly, on the verge of panic, so Les slaps him on the back and wanders off to find Spot. That’s somebody who can handle being teased.

 

_~November 1904~_

 

Les, newly fifteen, has a debilitating crush on a girl from temple. She’s more beautiful than Katherine and funnier than Jack and he thinks that he’ll probably faint if he tries to ask her out for ice cream the way he remembers a boy asking Sarah once. His dilemma, of course, is that he doesn’t know who to ask for advice. Sarah and Kath have never had to be a nervous teenage boy and neither Dave nor Jack have ever asked a girl out. Esther will pounce on him for grandchildren the moment she has proof he likes girls and Mayer is beyond tired of being involved in his children’s love lives.

 

He decides on Crutchie, because he’s been courting a real sweet girl who works in a grocer and things seem to be going well for them. He approaches Crutchie about it during dinner at the Kelly-Jacobs-Plumber household one evening, when almost everybody else is occupied.

 

“Hey, Crutchie,” he starts, and then coughs when his voice comes out a little weakly. “Heya, Crutch,” he tries again. “There’s this girl I’ve been thinking about asking out for… for ice cream or something, you know?”

 

Crutchie almost chokes on his drink and levels Les with a disbelieving stare. “You telling me one of you Jacobs finally ended up right-side-down?”

 

Les flicks Crutchie in the ear. “Don’t take the piss,” he says sullenly.

 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Crutchie says, all relaxed smile and humored eyes. “Tell me about her.”

 

So Les tells Crutch about Lacey and her black hair and blue eyes and the scar on her temple and the way she likes pickles and only stops when he hears Crutchie trying to swallow down laughter. “What?!”

 

“You’s in deep, kid. Here’s what you do. Tell her that you’s been thinking about going to see Medda’s new show but don’t wanna go alone. If she offers to go with you, that’s how you knows she likes you.” Crutchie offers his wisdom with gravitas but the serious air is shattered when Jack lets out a shriek of surprise right in Les’ ear.

 

He grabs Les by the shirt collar and hauls him into the kitchen. “Dave! Davey! Les is going to ask a girl on a date!” He yells, waving his free hand to catch the other man’s attention.

 

“What?!” Dave immediately drops the handful of cards he’d been about to fold, eyes going wide. “When? Who?”

 

“Lacey from temple,” Les mutters and toes at the ground. This is exactly what he hadn’t wanted.

 

And so he’s forced to sit and listen to girl advice from two men so queer that they forgot it was inappropriate to take a nine year old boy backstage behind a burlesque show. He can’t help but laugh a few times and when Dave demands to know what he thinks is so funny, Les just slumps further into the couch.

 

“Nothing, Davey. Tell me more about not getting nobody pregnant.”

 

_~September 1906~_

 

Sitting across from Dave and Jack over burnt eggs, hungover to the point of nausea and dehydrated, wasn’t exactly how Les had imagined having this conversation, but he supposes that that’s how life goes.

 

“Did you two really not know that I’ve known this whole time?” Les asks in disbelief. “I guess Crutchie owes me a dollar.”

 

Jack shakes his head slowly. “I can’t believe you know. You never said anything.”

 

Les shrugs and plays with his eggs. “Well, neither did you. So I figured that you’d tell me when you were ready.” He shoots a weak smile at the two men across from him and then grimaces when neither smiles back.

 

“I’m sorry we lied to you,” Dave says miserably into his lap.

 

Les pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not mad, Davey.” He turns towards Jack and makes a ‘help me’ gesture but just gets more blank faced staring. “Listen, fellas,” he starts again. “You’re both my brothers, okay? Nothing’s changed. Unless you want to start... kissing in front of me or something. Just- not too much kissing, okay?”

 

“You’s telling me you don’t care we’s queer?” Jack clarifies, voice sounding more disbelieving than anything. “We could kiss right now and that wouldn’t bother you none?”

 

Les nods once because nodding more than that seems like it’d be overdoing it- and then watches as one of Jack’s ink stained hands snaps out, snatches up Dave’s chin, and jerks the other man’s face over. The kiss is one sided, Dave scrambling against Jack’s hold and slapping his chest until he’s released.

 

He sucks in a deep breath and glares. “Don’t do that, Jack!”

 

“Why? Les don’t mind,” Jack says, smirk working its way slowly over his face.

 

Dave turns his scowl towards his brother. “This ain’t something to take lightly, Les. You could be thrown in jail for not reporting us.” His voice is anxious and his face is pained and Les reaches across the table to pat his hand.

 

“Don’t stress so much, Davey,” he soothes. “I already knew. Nothing’s changed.”

 

~

 

And nothing does change- besides for Jack kissing on Dave to gross both of the brothers out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much! Feedback appreciated!


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